


When The Heart Stops Beating

by EasyTiga



Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bottom Sam, Caring Sam Winchester, Character Death, Comfort Sex, Crying Sam Winchester, Demon Deals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, First Time, Heartbeats, M/M, Night Terrors, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Spooning, Supportive Sam Winchester, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: Dean didn’t know he was doing it. He grabbed Sam’s wrist to feel the pulse beneath his fingers. He pitched onto his toes so he could press his ear right up against Sam’s carotid, closing his eyes to hear it clearer in his ears, feel it quieting the worries in his mind.Each time Sam left him to go to the store or chase down a lead, Dean would be in his space the moment he got back, kissing him breathless, shoving him down on the bed and settling his head between his legs to suck bruises onto his thighs, twisting his head to and fro to line either ear up with his femoral pulse, one hand reaching up to cup over Sam’s pec, thumb sweeping his nipple as he searched for the rhythm beneath his flesh.Sam would writhe and moan his name, but it was the pitter-patter that kept him going, kept him prepping Sam diligently, kept him tucking his head into the crook of Sam’s neck when he entered him in one, long pull, Sam’s arms winding round him, fingers squeezing his sides while he pumped his hips.When it was over, Dean would clean them up, shuffle down Sam’s body and turn his head to the side, falling asleep to the beating of Sam’s heart and soft fingers teasing his hair and scalp.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686691
Comments: 15
Kudos: 302





	When The Heart Stops Beating

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea. Had to get it out. Angst warning. LOL. 
> 
> I think the style suits it, but I'm not really sure. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. :>
> 
> \--Kieran.

Dean was done waiting. As soon as Sam opened his eyes back up, he was on him, melding their mouths together, running his hands all over Sam’s body, feeling every part of him as he laid him flat on the bed, grinding against him, breaking the kiss to spoil his neck with brushes of his lips. Sam had gone along with it, a question in his eyes each time Dean lifted up to stare at him. Neither of them said anything, letting their bodies do all of the talking as they connected in the most intimate of ways for the first time in their lives, Dean fitting between the spread of Sam’s legs, tongue thrusting into Sam’s mouth at the same pace his fingers pushed inside the inviting heat of Sam’s body.

The first breach felt like coming home, Sam’s breathy gasp that turned into a low rumble as Dean latched onto his neck again, lips and tongue soft and sensuous as he rolled his hips, waiting for Sam to adjust to the thickness. Sam breathed in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, drawing Dean’s head back up to lick into his mouth, curling his arms around his body, holding fast to him as Dean started to buck, slow and true, at first, making sure Sam was loose and ready.

Sam took everything he had to give, moaning into Dean’s mouth, fingers sliding down Dean’s slick skin to dig into the meat of his ass and add strength to his thrusts. Dean had picked up the pace then, fucking into Sam in quick, hard snaps, Sam’s head retracting, eyes squeezing shut, mouth agape. The clutch of Sam’s hole drove Dean to near insanity, rough hands skimming down Sam’s flanks, sealing around his hips, angling his hips back to fuck upwards, dragging over Sam’s prostate. Below him, Sam smacked a hand over his mouth, and Dean had added that one extra level, watching Sam’s cock twitch and throb, leaking onto his stomach.

Dean had wanted to see Sam go off, just like that. He wanted to know that he could do that for Sam, that he could get him so worked up that he could reach his orgasm with not even a hand to help him there. So when Sam made an attempt to seal a hand around his cock, Dean grabbed his wrist, pulled him back on to his thrusts and made it very clear without saying anything that it was going to be like that.

And Sam eventually did, his long, beautiful cock coming to life as it jerked and soiled his skin with thick streams of cum, soaking into the sheets beneath them, along with the copious amounts of sweat from their activities.

Coming inside Sam for the first time was like nothing Dean had ever experienced, Sam’s name on his lips, the snatch of Sam’s insides draining him of 8 years worth of pent-up-frustration, fluttering around his length, making him bend forward and nuzzle Sam’s left pectoral, nipping the creamy flesh, senses on overdrive as the cadence of Sam’s heartbeat registered in his ears. He had gone lax then, cock nestled in Sam’s warmth, ear glued to Sam’s chest as large, soft hands carded through his hair and told him they wished it happened sooner.

Dean hadn’t disagreed, lost in the pitter-patter of Sam’s heartbeat, evidence that Sam was alive and well—here with him, underneath him, still clinging onto his length, hands warm and soothing in his hair.

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep. All he remembered was that it was the most relaxing sleep he’d ever had in his life.

His life that had just one year left.

===

After their first time together, they made up for lost time when they could, neither of them willing to take it slow since they had already skipped steps one and two. Dean hadn’t minded. He’d always had a healthy appetite for sex. Having Sam by his side practically 24/7 kept him _very_ satisfied, finally getting to live some of his fantasies… Sam riding him in the backseat to _Slow Ride,_ Sam kneeling on the floor of some parking lot as Dean sat with his legs spread, cock trapped in the back of Sam’s throat. Sam bending and twisting in blissful agony as Dean ate him out like he had the tastiest hole on the planet. He did, but only Dean would ever know that. Sam biting down on his thumb to keep in his screams while Dean blew him hard enough to make his legs give out.

It was going good. They were good. Sam was alive. Dean could deal with that. As long as Sam was alive and kicking, Dean could deal with anything. Even his deal. His deal that Sam tried to hide his worry over, though Dean could always see it swimming in the depths of his kaleidoscopic eyes. And sure, Dean was… Scared. What sane person wouldn’t be? The important thing was that he didn’t regret it. Would never regret it. All it took was one look at Sam’s beautiful face to remind himself that he’d do it all again.

It was going good. It was. But then Sam was almost stabbed, again, the blade barely missing its mark because Dean shot the assailant in the leg, getting Sam behind him as he emptied his clip into the thing, heart in his throat, vision blurred with rage. He didn’t hear Sam’s voice calling out to him, couldn’t register a thing beyond keeping Sam safe, taking away the threat, making it go away. Sam was reaching for his wrist, fighting to lower the gun, to stop him from pulling the trigger, nothing but empty clicks in the air.

“Dean! Stop,” Sam said again, Dean just about hearing it now as Sam got the gun out of his hand, spun him and hugged him to his chest.

That’s when he heard it, the frantic beat of Sam’s heart, strong hands on the back of his head pressing him into his chest. Dean didn’t know he was shaking, didn’t know he was deflating against Sam until his brother was telling him it was okay, lowering them both to the floor, tucking his head under his chin. He told Dean he could moan at him later for hugging him in the middle of an alleyway. Dean didn’t really have the capacity to care at that point, heart still in his throat, hands shaking as they wrapped around Sam and clung on.

Sam’s heartbeat started to even out the longer he held on, that same cadence from their first night together registering in his mind. He felt himself start to relax, tuning the world out as Sam’s heartbeat rang true in his ears. Proof of life. Proof that he’s here, with him, not lying cold and scarred on some dirty bed. Proof that it wasn’t all just a dream, that he wasn’t drowning in his own vomit in no-name motel room number 16 after drinking himself to death because he couldn’t bring Sam back.

No. Sam was there, with him, holding onto him. Like he mattered, like he was worth something, like he had no intention of letting go as he stroked his back and kissed the crown of his head. Dean didn’t like feeling vulnerable, or as though he was a burden. It didn’t seem to matter in that moment, any fight he might have flowing into the sewers along with the blood of his latest kill while Sam’s heartbeat kept him grounded, willing to fight another day—reminded him why he said yes, why he kissed that crossroads Demon, why he’d do it 1000 times over.

Just to know that Sam was alive.

When sirens blared, Sam urged them up and out of harms way.

===

Dean didn’t know he was doing it. He grabbed Sam’s wrist to feel the pulse beneath his fingers. He pitched onto his toes so he could press his ear right up against Sam’s carotid, closing his eyes to hear it clearer in his ears, feel it quieting the worries in his mind.

Each time Sam left him to go to the store or chase down a lead, Dean would be in his space the moment he got back, kissing him breathless, shoving him down on the bed and settling his head between his legs to suck bruises onto his thighs, twisting his head to and fro to line either ear up with his femoral pulse, one hand reaching up to cup over Sam’s pec, thumb sweeping his nipple as he searched for the rhythm beneath his flesh.

Sam would writhe and moan his name, but it was the pitter-patter that kept him going, kept him prepping Sam diligently, kept him tucking his head into the crook of Sam’s neck when he entered him in one, long pull, Sam’s arms winding round him, fingers squeezing his sides while he pumped his hips.

When it was over, Dean would clean them up, shuffle down Sam’s body and turn his head to the side, falling asleep to the beating of Sam’s heart and soft fingers teasing his hair and scalp.

===

He had a freaking panic attack in the middle of a park. He and Sam were out for a walk, clearing their heads after a long few days of hunting. Dean nudged up against Sam’s side every now and then, the two of them shooting the shit, bantering with each other, having a good time.

Then a large, black dog appeared in front of them.

One second, he was next to Sam. The next, he was clutching his chest and falling to his knees on the floor, blood rushing in his ears, head pounding, vision blacking out as he forgot how to breathe. Sam was in front of him, saying his name softly at first, then shouting it, guiding him to his chest again, his home, his sanctuary. He was counting to four, telling Dean to count with him. He couldn’t do it. Didn’t know if he could. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Sam shuffled him about, squeezed him tight. It came to him, Sam’s heart. The frantic beats were there again. Just as panicked, just as scared as Dean felt. Dean listened to them, communicated with his mind that it was okay, Sam didn’t need to worry about him. He asked for it, accepted it when he agreed to seal the deal with a kiss, that he should let go so that the hounds could do their job. He was ready, but he wasn’t. That was fine. No good denying it.

Apparently, Sam wasn’t about to let him go, telling him that it wasn’t his time, that he had another six months; demons might be assholes but they didn’t go back on their deals—had to honour them. As Sam told him, his heartbeat started to calm down, which made Dean start to calm down, and he finally took in a breath. Sam was kissing his head, his temple, his cheeks, burying him in his chest again, not letting go until Dean eventually remembered that he needed to stop being such a sissy and push Sam off.

===

Sam figured it out after that day, realizing that it was _his_ heartbeat that calmed Dean down, not any of the shit he tried to assure him of. Dean clearly didn’t want him to know that that’s what he was doing, holding Sam’s wrist a little too long and breathing in, keeping his hands on the sides of Sam’s neck, lying on his back with his head on Sam’s thigh, turned just enough to register his pulse while curling his fingers around Sam’s wrist, spooning him with a hand over his heart and head on his shoulder.

It didn’t take Sam long to figure out that it seemed more prevalent after times of great stress, a hunt gone sideways, a nightmare about his upcoming deal, any amount of threat to Sam’s life.

Once he did figure it out, he had to find a way to let it happen without shedding light on the fact that he knew exactly what Dean was doing. So when Dean woke up in a cold sweat, hand over his heart, skin pale as sin, Sam was quick to roll onto his back and lay Dean over his front, holding his head to his chest. He didn’t say anything. Just let Dean get his breathing under control while he petted his hair and wished there was _more_ he could do to help.

His heart almost broke when he found Dean sat on the floor of the shower, head in his hands, body shaking even as the hot water rained down on him. Sam had got in there with him. He didn’t care that he was fully clothed. He tucked Dean into the crook of his neck and squeezed until all Dean could hopefully hear was the thud of his pulse, Dean’s body relaxing after several minutes, passing out from the stress.

Sam had stayed in that shower for hours, cutting the water when he felt comfortable enough to release one arm to turn the handle.

He hadn’t told Dean he dried him with a towel and carried him to bed. Dean wouldn’t have wanted to know, wouldn’t have wanted to be reminded he was ever in that position.

It started becoming an unconscious thing, Dean grabbing Sam’s wrist when enemy of the week started giving them the business. He almost never slept without two pulse-points covered when they went to bed, or drove with two hands on the steering wheel, the other slung casually over Sam’s shoulders, _coincidentally_ laid over his carotid.

The closer it got to crunch time, the more Dean would cling to him. And Sam let him, always. Never once did he push him away or give them a reason that it would have to wait. Dean didn’t want to talk about it, Sam didn’t want him to start pushing him away if he knew that Sam knew. It worked for what it was, Sam accommodating Dean’s every need, riding him slow and easy. Short little ups and down as Dean listened to his heartbeat, beautiful face relaxed and open, hands saying all the words that Dean couldn’t bring himself to.

Sometimes, Sam would wipe tears from his eyes, glad that Dean was dead to the world so he could let go, Dean’s head pillowed on his chest, whispered words that not even Dean probably knew he was saying still lingering in Sam’s ears. _I can’t lose you. Don’t leave me. Stay. I’m scared, Sam. I don’t wanna die._ All of those confessions Dean didn’t register saying dug the proverbial knife deeper into Sam’s chest, bringing him back to that moment where he drew in his last breath.

===

The two of them were in a diner. Dean was twitchy on the other side of the booth, constantly looking out of the window. No one else would see the minute tenses, but Sam registered all of them, thinking of a way he could give Dean what he needed without drawing too much attention. Dean wouldn’t hold hands in public. That was out of the question. He wouldn’t approve of Sam joining him on his side either when he had no reason to, so that was out, too.

“You’d think that in a diner _this_ fuckin’ dead, it wouldn’t take more than half an hour to bring someone their damn breakfast,” Dean snapped, tensing again when he glanced out the window.

“I hear you, but complaining about it isn’t gonna do anythin’ good.”

“Screw you, I’m hungry.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t get to eat last night.”

No, he didn’t. He had another panic attack after a scene on the TV caught his eye of some man running for his life from a rabid dog in a movie that Sam was contemplating having excommunicated, honestly.

Sam gave him a small smile. “It’ll be here soon, Dean. Just… chill. You want me to get you a magazine?”

“No, I want my fuckin’ breakfast.”

“Dean…”

Dean rested one hand against his cheek, on the side that faced the window. There was something out there that was bothering him. Sam tried to take in the surroundings, but he couldn’t see anything that would have Dean on edge.

“It’d be faster if I made it myself,” he muttered, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I should say something.”

“No, just let them do their job. You’re not starving.”

“How would you know?” Dean repleid, agitated. “Maybe we should just go some place else.”

“We’ve already ordered. I’m sure it’ll just be a few more minutes, okay?”

After a staring contest, Dean sagged the slightest bit and gave in with a drawn out _fine,_ picking up a menu to pretend to read it. After his fake purusal, he opened his mouth to say something else. That was when he took out his gun, warning _no one_ as he bared his teeth and glared, Sam already getting up to wrestle the gun out of his hand and yank him out of the booth.

“It’s okay! Please don’t call the cops. He has PTSD. It’ll be fine. His gun isn’t loaded. It’s just a comfort tool—he feels better having it on him. Dean, I need you to calm down, buddy.”

People seemed to believe what he was saying, their fear turning to sympathy as they watched Dean violently struggle against Sam, tearing out of his hold and dragging him back behind him, screaming at literally _nothing_ that they weren’t getting Sam, too, that they could take him, drag him down to Hell but they weren’t getting his brother.

Sam held back tears as he told Dean it was okay, getting in front of him, absorbing Dean’s struggles as he got his head lined up with his chest, stroking his hand down his back, waiting for Dean to stop fighting him so he could lower them to the ground.

“Not takin’ Sam. No way. Won’t let you.”

“It’s okay, Dean. No one’s taking me away. I’m here. I’ve got’cha.”

“Only me. It’s my deal. Sam lives. Sam doesn’t stop breathin’, you hear me?!”

“They hear you, Dean. Loud and clear. No one’s gonna take me away from you.” _No one’s gonna take you away from me, either._

“I can’t… I can’t lose him again… _Please…”_

“You’re not gonna lose me. I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere. Breathe with me, okay?”

The people around them were irrellevant, lingering, observing but not there as Sam worked on getting Dean to breathe normally, calming down his own racing heartbeat to lull Dean, waiting for that moment that he finally took in a deep breath and fell limp against Sam.

“Please… Give us some space.”

They did.

===

It happened more times after that, Dean squaring up to _nothing,_ talking to himself, beating himself up. Sam stopped allowing him to have weapons on him, much to Dean’s unending displeasure. It was either that or be locked in the panic room, so Sam was confident he would opt for the less constrictive choice.

And he did, however, didn’t get the memo about stopping his endless complaints, nearly biting Sam’s head off when he told him he couldn’t drive. They compromised, one of Sam’s hand on the wheel the entire time. Dean complained about that, too, accusing Sam of babying him, treating him like an invalid, eventually calming down when he was tucked into the crook of Sam’s neck with a hand resting over Sam’s steady heartbeat.

Sam had to listen to him talk in his sleep, tensing up and saying _No, don’t touch him. You’re here for me, right? Come and get me, mutt._ He had the same dream every night. Sam never told him about it, never told him about how Dean would tell Sam he loved him and that he had no regrets before the hellhounds finally caught up to him, Dean’s cries of agony making sleeping for Sam a pipedream.

Research was getting them nowhere. Dean’s fake positivity while he was awake was making it hurt that much more because Sam wanted to believe every word of it, wanting to cling to the hope that they might make it out of this.

It wasn’t going to happen though.

All he could do was hold Dean, comfort him, breathe for him, let him press his fingers down on his carotid while Sam deep-throated him, let him meld himself to Sam’s back and squeeze him tight while he dreamed, ignoring the haunting wails in his ears, the sounds of pain vibrating through his skull. All he could do was cry.

No amount of wishing made it happen. No amount of keeping his heart playing a song only Dean seemed to appreciate made it any easier. No amount of gutting demons in their hunt for a way-out stopped him from retreating to the bathroom to splash his face with water and grip the sides before he remembered that Dean was in the other room waiting for him, needing him.

Nothing worked.

Dean’s deal was up. The dogs came. They shredded him in front of Sam. He screamed for them to stop, and no one listened. Dean’s lifeless, open eyes broke him to pieces.

He was numb. He was nothing

One heartbeat may have stopped beating that night, but one never beat the same again.

...

...

Until a man turned up at his motel room in Pontiac, Illinois, wearing his brothers' skin and said, “Heya, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please let me know what you liked about it. Or if you have some notes, please let me know those as well, just try to be constructive about it, if you can. ^^
> 
> Take care~


End file.
